He shifted in his chair, crossed one leg over the
other, put his hands on the arms of it, and continued:

“What did he talk about?”

“A little about Amara.”

“That was all?”

“He hadn’t been here long when you came—­”

“Oh.”

“But he told me one thing that was horrible,”
she added, obedient to her instinct always to tell
the complete truth to him, even about trifles which
had nothing to do with their lives or their relation
to each other.

“Horrible!” Androvsky said, uncrossing
his legs and leaning forward in his chair.

She sat down by him. They both had their backs
to the light and were in shadow.

“Yes.”

“What was it about—­some crime here?”

“Oh, no! It was about that liqueur you
saw on the table.”

Androvsky was sitting upon a basket chair. As
she spoke it creaked under a violent movement that
he made.

“How could—­what could there be that
was horrible connected with that?” he asked,
speaking slowly.

“It was made by a monk, a Trappist—­”

He got up from his chair and went to the opening of
the tent.

“What—­” she began, thinking
he was perhaps feeling the pain in his head more severely.

“I only want to be in the air. It’s
rather hot there. Stay where, you are, Domini,
and—­well, what else?”

He stepped out into the sand, and stood just outside
the tent in its shadow.

“It was invented by a Trappist monk of the monastery
of El-Largani, who disappeared from the monastery.
He had taken the final vows. He had been there
for over twenty years.”

“He—­he disappeared—­did
the priest say?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I don’t think—­I am sure he
doesn’t know. But what does it matter?
The awful thing is that he should leave the monastery
after taking the eternal vows—­vows made
to God.”

After a moment, during which neither of them spoke
and Androvsky stood quite still in the sand, she added:

“Poor man!”

Androvsky came a step towards her, then paused.

“Why do you say that, Domini?”

“I was thinking of the agony he must be enduring
if he is still alive.”